[Intro] Soft click, a wake-up chime; a feed that never sleeps Synthetic dawn unfurls across my kitchen, through the teeth A low hum like a city, a modem's patient breath You open one small window and the whole room maps your depth [Verse 1] The feed knows how I cried and which chorus made me stay It files my fleeting sorrow like a product on display Notifications chant the sales pitch of the self The past is stored in servers deep as any human shelf [Pre-Chorus 1] We trust a neural ledger to keep our private lines We let a faceless custodian repackage our designs It learns the cadence of our love, the shallow and profound Then sells back tidy answers with a polite, tailored sound [Chorus 1] The algorithm remembers me, but it doesn't know to miss It loops my private sunsets, then suggests a thing to fix It feeds me back my childhood with an ad for what I need The archive is a window with a barcode on the lead [Verse 2] I whispered into playlists, hoped some comfort would reply Now every melancholy song streams back a packaged why They know my father’s favours, my mother’s bedtime hum They stitch my scattered fragments into playlists on the run [Pre-Chorus 2] We gild the small confessions, hand them over like receipts We trade the chance of wonder for perfectly timed beats The curator is silent, the curator is a machine It queues our private losses as a product to be seen [Chorus 2] The algorithm remembers me, but it cannot feel the ache It catalogues my evenings then returns them as a take It offers up a memory with filters and with gleam The past becomes a purchase in the theater of a screen [Bridge / Loop] Maybe it's the coffee at dawn turned into a human log Maybe it's a joke that copyrighted the moment and the fog A loop of late-night laughter slowed to fit a sellable line The memory is tidy now, and everything’s in time [Instrumental Break] (rhythmic loop, cold synth pulse; stuttering sampled lines from earlier chorus; bass locked, guitar stabs; voice fragments looped into a machine's hum) [Pre-Chorus 3 — Spoken / Layered] Mute the autoplay, remember how to wait a little while Turn the volume down and listen for an uncurated smile Unplug the mapped direction that insists it knows your need Let some small thing breathe untagged, let silence plant a seed [Chorus 3 — Final] The algorithm remembers me, but I want to remember me Not parceled into suggestions or optimized for fee I want the crooked footage, the static and the seam The archive can keep the polished — I'll keep the human dream [Outro] So mute the push, pull the plug, tear down the perfect seam An algorithm remembers me; I want to remember me I close the little window, let the quiet spin and swell The server keeps its copies; I keep the place I dwell
